converse
by that lionhearted vagabond
Summary: Gellert Grindelwald is a coward, he tastes death five times before his own. Major AU ::five stages of grief::


_1. Denial_

* * *

They are young and magnificent. Big brains and big ideas and oh that _ambition_. They are going to rule the world, Gellert and Albus, they're going to make it _better_.

That's the plan anyway.

But they are young and magnificent. They are arrogant and imperious and they think they know _best_.

And isn't that just a recipe for disaster?

Big brains and big ideas and ambition. Arrogant and imperious and just a little bit naive. Of course they're going to clash, like tectonic plates, grinding and faulting and making _mountains_, building and destroying, pulling together and pushing apart.

A small argument, an inconsequential quarrel, a lovers spat. (But they are not in love because that would be _wrongwrongwrong._Right?)

He doesn't remember what started it, can't recall who threw the first hex, but he blinks and curses are flying and even Aberforth is involved, stupid Abeforth who can't comprehend his brother's brilliance (Not like Gellert can, not like Gellert does).

He blinks again and Ariana is dead.

Someone's wand clatters to the ground. Abeforth's, of course, the imbecile. You don't drop your _wand_during a duel. But they're not dueling anymore are they?

There is silence, threading through the air with the full force of it's nothingness, prying the oxygen from his lungs. Albus falls to his knees.

No. No. _No._

This is not happening, she is not dead. Any second now she is going to pop up and giggle because that's just the sort of thing she'd find funny (and Ariana is a little bit stupid as well, how is it that Albus inherited all the brains in the family?)

"What are we going to do _now_?" Albus asks, he is still on his knees, shaking like a leaf, and Gellert wants to tell him he's pathetic, why can't they see that she's not really dead. It's so obvious, she _can't_be dead, she is only a child.

"Give me your wand," Aberforth roars, lunging forward, prying Albus's from his weak hand. There is not much resistance.

Gellert pulls his hand back,

"Not likely," he informs the plebeian moron.

"I'm checking the spells you cast," (and Aberforth positively _trembles_with anger and grief, and Gellert hates that he looks so much more noble than Albus, who still kneels on the floor as if in prayer (and maybe he is, and that scares Gellert more than anything, because religion is a fool's game and Albus is no a fool)).

"You can manage that without possession of my wand surely."

The spell is cast and though several unpleasant curses pop up there is nothing that could _kill_. But Albus's wand. . .

It flashes bright green and Albus lets out a little moan of despair at the accusation, at the proof. And then he is gone with a pop, apparating through the wards because even wearing grief and guilt like a strangling robe Albus shines.

Aberforth turns to him, his flaming anger is gone and all that is left is a smoldering spark that is too far gone to blaze but not to burn.

"Get out. _GET OUT_! And don't ever come back. If I see you again I'll kill you." And that threat is ridiculous because Gellert might not be as fantastic as Albus but he could handle Aberforth blindfolded with one hand tied behind his back even on his worst days.

Still he walks out and goes home, still half believing that Ariana will wake at any second and everything will go back to normal.

But she doesn't and it doesn't (and it never really could have, could it?)

Maybe he's the fool.

* * *

_2. Bargaining_

* * *

They are young and broken. Boiling grief and seething hatred and that bubbling guilt that all spills out whenever they meet. Gellert and Albus, look how far they've fallen.

Angels without wings, demons without hearts, he doesn't really know if there's much difference to be honest.

The smoke is black against the sunny blue sky and that's probably a metaphor for something but he's too busy thinking _don'tbedeaddon'tbedeaddon'tbedead_to bother analyzing it (and he hasn't had the energy to be pretentious in a long time anyway).

The grass is green and pliant and makes his struggle up the hill even harder than it already was, he is sure if he thought about it for long enough he could figure out a way to reach the summit without any physical exertion. It would probably be quite simple, but it would take too much time, and if there is one thing Gellert has never had enough of it is time.

He inhales smoke with a cough, it's as black as shadows at dusk, as black as his _soul_ (and maybe he lied about being pretentious) and he does not have _time_.

"Acio Albus," he coughs, and he has no idea if it will work because he's never tried to summon a person before. Maybe he's overestimated the limitations of the spell, or maybe it's his own inborn ability, but a body comes flying toward him, the ensuing collision sending them rolling down the hill like children.

"Gellert," Albus greets him tonelessly, not bothering to pick himself up from where he's sprawled on his back, staring at the sky.

"What the hell," Gellert asks with all the meager emotion he has left, "were you doing?" And just for a second Albus could be mistaken for the boy he once knew, as he looks at him with that twinkle in his eye and the exact same voice he had used two years ago when informing him of what he thought was a very obvious piece of information.

"The Grail sword, split in two and put back together again, it makes perfect sense."

"And the smoke?"

"It didn't react well to being found I'm afraid, but I'll find another way."

And Gellert knows at that moment with such terrible certainty that Albus Dumbledore is going to die. Maybe not now, maybe not today, but soon. His auburn hair is streaked grey at twenty, his face gaunt and his limbs thinner than a crack of light beneath a bedroom door. He will die on this quest to bring his dead sister back.

"Albus, don't be foolish, we can-" and he doesn't know how he would have finished that sentence and he never gets the chance to find out.

"We can what Gellert," Albus thunders, "we can rule the world? We can live like kings? Don't you understand? My sister is dead. _I_killed her!"

He wants to be encouraging, he wants to be reassuring, he wants more than anything to bring comfort to this man that he does _not_ love (_wrongwrongwrong_). But it is not in his nature, and Albus would not listen anyway.

There has to be a way, death has been cheated before, and if anyone can figure out how to cheat it again it would be Albus and Gellert.

_Don't you dare take him_, Gellert thinks to the air, as if death can hear his thoughts and will obey his command. _I'll do anything, just let him live._

There is no response, and Albus, chest heaving, turns to go.

"Wait," he calls, and though Albus does not turn around he briefly stops his descent to certain doom.

"I've heard rumors, the elder wand, a man named Gregorovitch-" and Albus has already left.

A month later he attempts to break into Gregorovitch's house, and Albus Dumbledore dies at twenty years of age.

Gellert Grindelwald weeps.

* * *

_3. Despair_

* * *

He is middle-aged and sad. The feeling varies, sometimes there is a hole in his chest so large he feels as though he will surely collapse into himself, and sometimes it the persistent ache of an old wound that you have gotten so used to feeling you no longer complain. But he is always sad.

Gellert Grindelwald, all _alone_.

He never really planned to become headmaster of Hogwarts, the position sort of fell atop of him and though his ambition has been slaughtered he still believes he might make a difference, even if only in this little way.

Staring at the pair of boys before him now though, he knows he has failed. Perhaps it is hopeless, he will bring destruction no matter what he does. He has failed so many times, his mother, his father, even Ariana, and...and Albus. He failed the boy he loved (and he did love him, he'll admit that now, but it hardly matters anymore, does it?) when he needed him most and now he has failed these children.

He knows without a shadow of a doubt however that to strip these boys of their wands would be signing their death certificates.

"Mr. Black," he says, his voice tired, "What you have done today would be classified by the Ministry as attempted murder," the boy does not respond, keeps his back straight and his eyes on the wall behind him, "and Mr. Lupin, I agreed to allow you to attend this school on the condition that you not endanger other students. The two of you leave me no choice." Lupin looks as though he may cry, but he holds out through sheer power of will.

"You will not technically be expelled, but you will go home for the last month of the school year, under the guise of dragon pox, and you will not be invited back."

There is silence in response and Gellert briefly considers throwing himself off the astronomy tower just to see if it might make him hate himself less. He allowed it to come to this and the knowledge is heavy in the gaping hole in his chest.

"You are dismissed."

Gellert is not an idiot, he knows the other two boys will leave with them, and probably that Evans girl as well because she can't resist a cause. Maybe if Albus were alive he would be a better person, maybe he wouldn't have been so caught up in his seemingly perpetual grief and noticed something more than schoolboy animosity, or maybe Albus would have been headmaster himself. He briefly entertains the thought, before laughing it away. Albus was always destined for greater things than this.

He sits in his office until the sun starts to slink over the horizon, casting his solitary shadow against the wall.

* * *

_4. Anger_

* * *

Gellert is old and bitter. He has lost a lot and gained very little. Once he aimed for the stars but now he is not bothered to look above the treetops.

He fights a war of beliefs, of blood-traitors and mudbloods and elitist, interbred purebloods. And really, he could care less. He spearheads the "light" out of guilt for having missed the signs in Tom, signs that he should have seen for they were once present in himself (and Albus).

It is a war that has to be fought and has to be won, and he knows the second he lays eyes on Harry James Potter that he is going to have to be sacrificed to do it.

And that makes him _furious_. Maddeningly, intolerably, unquenchably angry. It was supposed to have ended with Albus, it was supposed to have ended with him.

But tragedy and war define human nature _apparently_, and he has that terrible certainty again, the knowledge that Harry is going to be matyar for this war. He had tried to prevent it before, with Albus, and Albus had died anyway. So he doesn't bother.

He lets the prophecy be known that October night, and watches him go through the years, nearly dying, nearly dying and then, in his fifth year being expelled by the ministry for creating an army of students.

He feels sick. He won't, no, he can't let another boy die on a suicidal quest. There has to be another way to win this war.

Gellert had gotten rid of quidditch years ago because it was idiotic and had no educational value whatsoever, but every month or so he holds an interview for someone obstinately interested in filling the position as flying teacher.

Several capable witches and wizards had been interviewed through the years, yet no has ever been hired. For it was not quidditch they spoke of, but war.

When Harry is interviewed for the position he does not bother with pleasantries.

"We're not really here to talk about flying lessons are we?" Gellert takes one long look at him before he begins, assessing his character one last time. The boy is too thin, the bags under his eyes are so dark they look like bruises, his mouth is set into a bitter line, but the tilt of his head is proud.

It is what he was expecting, he was told since he was eleven that he had to save the world and then abandoned when he started to do it.

It is not fair.

"We can't get the support we need to win if Mr. Riddle continues to operate behind the scenes. He's too smart to come out into the open himself. . ."

Gellert Grindelwald talks to a boy with bright green eyes and hopes it is enough.

* * *

_5. Acceptance_

* * *

Gellert is tired and dying. His heart continues to beat in his chest out of habit more than anything else, a perfunctory action more than a desire for life.

He has lived a long time, and he has done many things. Death has not yet made it to that list.

He thinks he might be ready though, which is good, because he needs to be.

_**Blood-traitors Beware **_is carved in the stone behind him. In a few minutes the Dark Mark will shine above him and the war will start in earnest.

"Don't just stand there boy," Gellert snaps. Harry readjusts his grip on his wand, his adam's apple bobbing as he grits his teeth and readies his will power.

Gellert closes his eyes and wonders if Albus has forgiven him yet.

_"Avada Kedavra"_


End file.
